FIELD-DAYS IN CALIFORNIA 



It is not the worst thing in the world for a 

 man to have a reasonable, or even a slightly un- 

 reasonable, measure of confidence in himself ; it 

 contributes to the joy of living; but it is a bad 

 sign when he begins to suspect himself of infalli- 

 bility. Sooner or later he will probably find him- 

 self out, or, if he does n't, so much the worst for 

 him. 



All phalaropes are remarkably unsuspicious so 

 far as human beings are concerned, as if they had 

 never had occasion to look upon men as more 

 dangerous than so many wolves or oxen. My first 

 acquaintance with the family was with a solitary 

 Wilson's many years ago in the mountains of 

 North Carolina, and I have narrated elsewhere 

 my repeated and all but successful attempts to 

 take it out of the water in my hand. 



The first couple of the same species that I saw 

 in Santa Barbara (a lovely pair they were, in their 

 prettiest honeymoon dress) were not quite so tame 

 as that, but charmingly trustful. And my first 

 undoubted Santa Barbara red one allowed me to 

 move so closely about him on the bare sand that 

 finally I could no longer focus my glass upon him, 

 and was compelled to withdraw a few yards for 

 a nicer examination, — to get farther away, that 

 is, in order to get a nearer view, which is what 

 we may call the field-glass paradox. Indeed, I 

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